---Nathan’s perspective---
---Sunday, 18th of May, 2684 Terran Calendar---
---Deep Space---
“Where are you going with that, Sublieutenant?” I say, sternly, to the large man.
“My quarters, LtCpt Burrows.” he answers, simply.
“Food is not allowed in your quarters, Taylor… You eat in the Mess, you know that!”
Breaking his normal unflinching eyecontact, he answers “It’s… not for me… Sir.”
I sigh.
In retrospect, postpartum depression makes for a terrible combination with soldiery!
I really hope the woman is able to recover before we arrive… I might have to sideline her if not!
It would be a shame to lose such talent…
“Alright, Taylor… I’ll make an exception in this instance… Please remind your wife about the briefing tomorrow morning. Attendance is mandatory!”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” says the soldier before carrying on with the tray of sustenance.
---Monday, 19th of May, 2684 Terran Calendar---
“Greetings all!… For those who don’t know me, my name is Lieutenant-Captain Nathan ‘Wellington’ Burrows and I am the one selected to present this briefing to all of you…” I say to the theatre full of every junior officer aboard this particular ship.
I see the Taylors, sat together.
Esme Taylor does not look at all like she’s paying attention.
There’s none of the truculent contempt her WO, Sands, told me she had when she first arrived at bootcamp.
Rather, it is as if her body is here but her heart and mind, her spirit and soul, remained on Earth with the child she left behind.
Continuing, I say “Our estimated date of arrival on New Australia is 15 weeks from now, around the beginning of September… Now, this planet has been under enemy occupation since the beginning of the War. We can’t know how many survivors there are but, from the quantity of forces still tied up on the planet, we’re fairly sure there are some. Our main objective is to liberate the planet… either by compelling the surrender of the GU forces or compelling their rout… Secondary objectives are locating and rescuing any survivors and linking up with local resistance forces… Our best landing point has been determined as being here…”
I bring up a 3D projection of the planet with the west coast of the single, pangaean supercontinent rotated to face my audience. A red circle appears around the point to which I am referring.
“…subject to change based on conditions on our arrival but, right now, the area around New Çanakkale seems like our best insertion point, based on preoccupation information.”
Inwardly, I groan as a murmur goes around the room.
Clearly, the ill portent of assaulting a town named ‘Çanakkale’ is not lost on at least a few of these young men and women!
I really wish there had been a single other point on the planet that was more promising, as promising or, Hell, even a slight strategic disadvantage might be worth taking so as to not draw the parallel to the ill fated WWI landing!
I wish the Aussies had been more considerate of their future liberation forces when they named that town(!) Though, I don’t suppose they gave much thought it would be assaulted… at least, not by forces which they would wish to aid in keeping up the morale(!)
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“Our entry will be completed by orbital drop pod. We will land and, immediately, disembark and disperse. Mobility will be key to prevent our forces being targeted from orbit!… We may, while planetside, come in and out of naval support as the battle rages overhead. Simulations show the battle for orbital supremacy lasting some months. As a result, supplies will be carried from the drop pods as well as needing to be foraged from the land!… We know that agricultural irrigation infrastructure was intentionally destroyed by the occupiers at the beginning of the War so we will likely not be able to rely on local forage to be all that plentiful… Landing forces will consist of Army, Marine and Airborne troops as well as attached Humanitarian corps personnel… we will quickly fan out from the drop point to clear the continent of ground based forces… Some things you shall all need to bare in mind are…”
---later---
“…and that concludes the briefing, everyone is dismissed except SubLts Taylor… you two stay here.”
The Scottish girl and the Doggerlander boy look mildly surprised to be singled out as everyone else begins filing out of the room, a few shooting them mildly curious glances.
Once we are alone, I beckon to them with the face of a stern parent.
They get up and walk to where I stand at the front of the room. Stopping around 1.5m away, they look at me expectantly.
“Listen, you two…” I sigh “…I consider you two to be friends… and, both as your friend and as your superior, I cannot allow this to continue!”
“Allow… what to continue?” asks the girl, dully, speaking as if about to lose consciousness.
“This!” I gesture to her limply standing body “The moping in your room, the only showing your face when absolutely required, the zombielike demeanour… it’s just not on!… I’m… aware of what you’re going through… While I won’t insult you by saying I ‘understand’ it or ‘know what it’s like’, I understand that the grief will feel overwhelming… But… you are a Soldier… and the Army cannot allow there to be Soldiers who are too depressed to discharge their duties…”
Oskar is the one to say “What do you suggest, Sir?”
“It’s not a suggestion, Sublieutenants… I’ve already spoken with Lieutenant-Colonel Wallace and she has agreed to the solution I proposed…”
“What solution…?” asks the girl, squinting at me as if she’s having a hard time focusing on my words.
“Effective immediately, both of you are relieved of command over your respective squadrons.”
Both of their faces fall.
“But…!”
“But what, Esme?!” I snarl “Do you think you could effectively lead them through an engagement in the state your in!?”
She thinks for a moment before looking ashamed. She doesn’t answer.
“What will we be doing instead, Sir?” asks the boy, flatly and betraying no emotion.
“Starting tomorrow, you are going to be my personal attendants, you will get up when I get up and you will be right beside me the whole day unless I despatch you on an errand… You will be busy… and this arrangement will continue until I deem it appropriate to change, is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” responds the dark haired man.
“Yes, Sir.” answers the redheaded woman, half a second later.
Sighing again, I explain “I understand that it may seem somewhat cruel to answer your depression by increasing your workload, Esme… And it may well not be the healthiest thing that could be done about it!… I’m just… not sure what else to do besides keep you busy and hope it takes your mind off things!… Try not to hate me too much, Sublieutenants…”
The girl shakes her head “I don’t… I don’t hate you, Sir… It’s probably a good thing that someone’s giving me a kick up the arse…”
“I’m glad you see it that way… I’ll see you in the morning. Dismissed.”
---Thursday, 10th of July, 2684 Terran Calendar---
The Taylors stand behind me while I discuss some trivial administrative matter with the handsome Shipmaster, on the Bridge.
A side effect of always being flanked by these two is that people assume them to be my bodyguards and, thus, assume me to be much higher ranked than I am!
The male Taylor certainly looks the part… Though, I think his wife not looking the part ironically makes her look more the part!
When coupled with the general brusque demeanour she’s had since I assigned her this role, people seem to assume she must have special, hidden skill, not obvious from looking at her(!)
Despite my uniform clearly displaying my rank insignia, this man is talking to me with the same demeanour that might be appropriate for a Colonel(!)
The Soldier, formerly known as Reid, has certainly been shaken from her funk by the extra responsibility.
She and her husband have been exercising in the gym when I do, She has been eating proper meals again…
She may not actually seem like she’s enjoying herself, ever, but… it’s nice to see her taking care of herself, even if it’s only because I’m forcing her to!
“Yes, Sir. So, I wondered if it might be agreeable, this coming Monday, to…” whatever triviality the Shipmaster was about to say is cut short by the low humming noise that has been ever present these last 8 weeks suddenly ceasing.
I see the blood drain from the Shipmaster’s face as it drains from mine.
He screams “WARP INTERDICTION! SOUND THE ALARMS! ALL HANDS TO STATIONS!!!”